


Intricate Rituals

by voretournament



Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: As you do, Cannibalism, Gore, M/M, Romantic Goring and then Voring, Vore, consensual vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voretournament/pseuds/voretournament
Summary: Post one of their regular spars, Lucile is overcome with a hunger that only Miran's freshly severed arm will satisfy. Thankfully, Miran's quite all right with that - perhaps a littletooall right.Or, the Intricate Rituals which allow Lucile to touch Miran's skin, mostly through consuming it.
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Intricate Rituals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/gifts).



> So SOMEONE made a typo in the group chat, which led to me joking about "miraluci consentual vore fic". And then that same someone said he'd read it.
> 
> And so now we're here. I have not actually written vore and/or gore before! But as it turns out you simply cannot dare/joke/even imply I should write something, because I'll take it as a personal challenge and then will.

_Shing._

Miran’s left arm severs from his body and falls to the ground with a soft _thud_ , thus marking the end of another duel. He doesn’t even bother to glance down at it, well-used to this dance by now. “Remarkable skill as ever, Duke Eris. Your precision is most impressive; you certainly waste no time cutting to the chase. Every time I think I’ll finally manage to outdo you, you always manage to prove me quite wrong, which is as thrilling as it is vexing, and...”

Lucile listens to him patiently - really, he has all the time in the world for this man, is practically made of time when it comes to Miran. Even though he tunes out the words after the first minute, when it’s clear that Miran has made his point and is just repeating it with more and fancier words, he’s content to let that deep, rich voice wash over him. Nevermind the fact that the stump where Miran’s arm is gushing blood right now; Lucile wants to listen until he finally runs out of steam, could listen to Miran forever and nevermind-

His stomach growls.

Miran pauses in his speech to give him a vaguely miffed look, seeming to count the stomach growl as an actual interruption - but Lucile’s attention has now focused, razor sharp, on his severed arm. His eyes open to slivers to stare at it; he can smell it even from here, and the sight of it, pooling blood on the ground, only makes him _hungrier_. He sweeps across the room in an instant, drawn to it like a fly to honey, and he _wants._

The rituals are intricate, yes; he picks it up by its severed end and holds it, wondering how much he could get away with, if he wanted. It’s not fair to let it drag on the ground, is it, and he needs to lift it up and hold it close for inspection, and if Miran’s hand just so happens to accidentally twine with his, well, who could hold it as evidence against him? Certainly not Miran; Lucile loves him, he does, but he is not totally blind to his shortcomings, and, well.

Miran was certainly… dense, at times.

“Can I eat this?”

Miran stares at him, utterly dumbstruck. “I beg your pardon?”

“Can I eat this?” Lucile thumps the palm of Miran’s hand against his own, tilting his head up to look at him. “Forgive me, but this fight left me rather hungry, and it’s so… readily available.”

Miran blinks, before his face masks back over as he regains composure. “I - well, I suppose if you must; I cannot see any-”

“Excellent,” says Lucile, and with no further warning, he digs straight in.

He supposes he could be more elegant about this. He tears into Miran’s arm, heedless of the blood that drips down his face, intent only on satisfying his hunger - but he _could_ have shown more restraint, if he wanted, if he tried to. Perhaps it would be better if he did. The way he’s feeding right now is monstrous; a normal man would be utterly repulsed by it.

But then, this wasn’t a normal man; this was _Miran_. Miran, whom he’d spent the past months with in a loving dance of blood and gore, who seemed actively interested in things dark and monstrous. Surely Miran wouldn’t mind if he pushed things a little further, would he?

Indeed, Miran watches him intently the entire time, seemingly unphased by the carnage, by the fact that it’s his _own arm_ that Lucile is so tenderly ripping into. On the contrary, he leans _forward_ , a spark of intrigue in his dark eyes. It’s the fact that he’s interested that causes Lucile to actually slow, tearing off a long chunk of skin and flesh and chewing his way through it at a leisurely pace. It’s fine, though. The edge of his initial overpowering hunger has been sated, and he now has plenty of time to truly enjoy this. Miran’s flesh is sweet and juicy; it’s not the first time Lucile has eaten a human, but he swears he’s never tasted anyone better than Miran.

Miran actually _shudders_ as he inhales, transfixed, and something warms in Lucile's stomach that definitely isn't Miran's blood. He wonders if Miran is feeling the same. He certainly looks like he could be, but one could never tell for certain, could they, and Lucile has already resigned himself to watching without _having,_ and-

-and before he knows it, the arm is gone, consumed. Slowly, whatever rush was clouding his and Miran’s brains drains away, leaving them both with an eerie awareness of what just happened. Lucile speaks first.

“...You’re still bleeding.”

“An astute observation. Yes, I am still bleeding. I had the forethought to try and staunch the wound, but it still has not quite stopped entirely.”

Miran’s hand clenches around the stump where his arm was, blood occasionally dripping through his fingers and splattering the ground. It’s a sight Lucile is well used to by now, but it doesn’t stop the strange feeling in his chest (Satisfaction? Pity? Pleasure? Some mix of the three?). “Allow me, then.”

“There is no need, I have it perfectly-”

“You’re still bleeding on my floor,” Lucile points out. This is enough to silence Miran and allow him to fetch a roll of bandages. Technically, there’s no need to do it this way. He knows how to use magic, and he’s used it countless times before to reattach Miran’s limbs after their little sparring matches (Though… perhaps that wouldn’t work this time, since he’d already eaten the arm. They should have thought of these things first! At the very least, it wasn’t his right one this time…).

But the heart wants what it wants. And today, what it wants is to reach up and grab Miran’s shoulders, gently forcing him to sit on the floor before rolling up the remains of his sleeve and bandaging the stump of his arm. So that’s what he does. This, too, is familiar; he raises the arm and winds fresh gauze around the wound, using both hands and gauze to apply steady pressure until the blood stops soaking through. Once he’s certain the bleeding has stopped, he finishes the wrapping, neatly tying off the end. His hands linger a moment too long after, reluctant to let go - but if Miran notices, he doesn’t say anything.

It’s only after he’s done that Lucile becomes aware of the rapidly drying blood that’s still coating his mouth and jaw. He wonders if it’s too late to politely wipe it away. It probably is. It’s been there long enough anyways, and Miran either hasn’t noticed, or hasn’t minded.

Speaking of Miran, with his arm safely bandaged, he stands back up, towering over Lucile. “Thank you. I shall be going now. I would hate to intrude on your time for longer than necessary.”

Lucile’s heart warms, and he can’t quite manage to stop his face from softening. Oh, if only Miran knew… “Don’t apologize. It was my pleasure, as always.”

“...And mine, as well,” Miran murmurs, and then he’s gone before Lucile can tell if that’s a shadow of a smile that passes across his face, and soon he’s left questioning whether he actually heard Miran speak or not.


End file.
